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  • Don Stouder

Poetry: Park Bench

by Don Stouder

Photo by Aldi Wahid

 


We stare at each other, the pigeon and I

she, hoping to charm me into giving her something I do not have.

Pieces of bread or cake, to help her live another day.

Oddly, it is I who receives the gift; the thought of survival.

She stares even as I turn to walk away, looking for money in my torn nylon billfold to buy some day old bread.


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